That evening the Morleys looked in at Isaura's on their way to a crowded
assembly at the house of one of those rich Americans, who were then
outvying the English residents at Paris in the good graces of Parisian
society. I think the Americans get on better with the French than the
English do--I mean the higher class of Americans. They spend more money;
their men speak French better; the women are better dressed, and, as a
general rule, have read more largely, and converse more frankly. Mrs.
Morley's affection for Isaura had increased during the last few months.
As so notable an advocate of the ascendancy of her sex, she felt a sort
of grateful pride in the accomplishments and growing renown of so
youthful a member of the oppressed sisterhood. But, apart from that
sentiment, she had conceived a tender mother-like interest for the girl
who stood in the world so utterly devoid of family ties, so destitute of
that household guardianship and protection which, with all her assertion
of the strength and dignity of woman, and all her opinions as to woman's
right of absolute emancipation from the conventions fabricated by the
selfishness of man, Mrs. Morley was too sensible not to value for the
individual, though she deemed it not needed for the mass. Her great
desire was that Isaura should marry well, and soon. American women
usually marry so young that it seemed to Mrs. Morley an anomaly in social
life, that one so gifted in mind and person as Isaura should already have
passed the age in which the belles of the great Republic are enthroned as
wives and consecrated as mothers. We have seen that in the past year she
had selected from our unworthy but necessary sex, Graham Vane as a
suitable spouse to her young friend. She had divined the state of his
heart--she had more than suspicions of the state of Isaura's. She was
exceedingly perplexed and exceedingly chafed at the Englishman's strange
disregard to his happiness and her own projects. She had counted, all
this past winter, on his return to Paris; and she became convinced that
some misunderstanding, possibly some lover's quarrel, was the cause of
his protracted absence, and a cause that, if ascertained, could be
removed. A good opportunity now presented itself--Colonel Morley was
going to London the next day. He had business there which would detain
him at least a week. He would see Graham; and as she considered her
husband the shrewdest and wisest person in the world--I mean of the male
sex--she had no doubt of his being able to turn Graham's mind thoroughly
inside out, and ascertain his exact feelings and intentions. If the
Englishman, thus assayed, were found of base metal, then, at least, Mrs.
Morley would be free to cast him altogether aside, and coin for the uses
of the matrimonial market some nobler effigy in purer gold.
"My dear child," said Mrs. Morley, in a low voice, nestling herself close
to Isaura, while the Colonel, duly instructed, drew off the Venosta,
"have you heard anything lately of our pleasant friend Mr. Vane?"
You can guess with what artful design Mrs. Morley put that question
point-blank, fixing keen eyes on Isaura while she put it. She saw the
heightened colour, the quivering lip of the girl thus abruptly appealed
to, and she said inly: "I was right--she loves him!"
"I heard of Mr. Vane last night--accidentally."
"Is he coming to Paris soon?"
"Not that I know of. How charmingly that wreath becomes you! it suits
the earrings so well, too."
"Frank chose it; he has good taste for a man. I trust him with my
commissions to Hunt and Roskell's but I limit him as to price, he is so
extravagant--men are, when they make presents. They seem to think we
value things according to their cost. They would gorge us with jewels,
and let us starve for want of a smile. Not that Frank is so bad as the
rest of them. But a propos of Mr. Vane--Frank will be sure to see him,
and scold him well for deserting us all. I should not be surprised if he
brought the deserter back with him, for I send a little note by Frank,
inviting him to pay us a visit. We have spare rooms in our apartments."
Isaura's heart heaved beneath her robe, but she replied in a tone of
astonishing indifference: "I believe this is the height of the London
season, and Mr. Vane would probably be too engaged to profit even by an
invitation so tempting."
"_Nous verrons_. How pleased he will be to hear of your triumphs! He
admired you so much before you were famous: what will be his admiration
now! men are so vain--they care for us so much more when people praise
us. But till we have put the creatures in their proper place, we must
take them for what they are."
Here the Venosta, with whom the poor Colonel had exhausted all the arts
at his command for chaining her attention, could be no longer withheld
from approaching Mrs. Morley, and venting her admiration of that lady's
wreath, earrings, robes, flounces. This dazzling apparition had on her
the effect which a candle has on a moth--she fluttered round it, and
longed to absorb herself in its blaze. But the wreath especially
fascinated her--a wreath which no prudent lady with colourings less pure,
and features less exquisitely delicate than the pretty champion of the
rights of women, could have fancied on her own brows without a shudder.
But the Venosta in such matters was not prudent. "It can't be dear," she
cried piteously, extending her arms towards Isaura. "I must have one
exactly like. Who made it? Cara signora, give me the address."
"Ask the Colonel, dear Madame; he chose and bought it," and Mrs. Morley
glanced significantly at her well-tutored Frank.
"Madame," said the Colonel, speaking in English, which he usually did
with the Venosta--who valued herself on knowing that language and was
flattered to be addressed in it--while he amused himself by introducing
into its forms the dainty Americanisms with which he puzzled the
Britisher--he might well puzzle the Florentine,--"Madame, I am too
anxious for the appearance of my wife to submit to the test of a rival
schemer like yourself in the same apparel. With all the homage due to a
sex of which I am enthused dreadful, I decline to designate the florist
from whom I purchased Mrs. Morley's head-fixings."
"Wicked man!" cried the Venosta, shaking her finger at him coquettishly.
"You are jealous! Fie! a man should never be jealous of a woman's
rivalry with women;" and then, with a cynicism that might have become a
greybeard, she added, "but of his own sex every man should be jealous--
though of his dearest friend. Isn't it so, _Colonello_?"
The Colonel looked puzzled, bowed, and made no reply. "That only shows,"
said Mrs. Morley, rising, "what villains the Colonel has the misfortune
to call friends and fellow-men."
"I fear it is time to go," said Frank, glancing at the clock.
In theory the most rebellious, in practice the most obedient, of wives,
Mrs. Morley here kissed Isaura, resettled her crinoline, and shaking
hands with the Venosta, retreated to the door.
"I shall have the wreath yet," cried the Venosta, impishly. "_La
speranza e fenamina_" (Hope is female).
"Alas!" said Isaura, half mournfully, half smiling, "alas! do you not
remember what the poet replied when asked what disease was most mortal?--
'the hectic fever caught from the chill of hope.'"